


everything is new

by halcyonskies



Series: 100Themes: Dean/Cas [39]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Cheating (imagined), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity (imagined), Insecurity, M/M, Panties, and jumps to the wrong conclusion, castiel finds dean's panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 05:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4992373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonskies/pseuds/halcyonskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't know what to think anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything is new

**Author's Note:**

> 100Themes Challenge - #94: Misunderstanding
> 
> obligatory 'one of them thinks the other is cheating' fic whoops. this one's pretty long too, damn.

Castiel had never worried about any of this until he found the panties.

_Dean_ was the one so often plagued by feelings of worthlessness, of self-hate and inadequacy. It wasn’t that Castiel never felt insecure himself; it was just that, between the two of them, his husband was prone to occasional bouts of self-flagellation while Castiel was typically the one to pull him back, to cast away those vile demons that lingered in Dean’s mind. It was a job Castiel had been proud to take on, and one that became easier the longer they were married, as Dean took Castiel’s reverence to heart and used it as ammunition to fight his own inner battles.

But the panties changed things. Suddenly it seemed as if the rosy tint had been taken away, everything bare to Castiel’s eyes, things he might otherwise not have noticed now being scrutinized as a possible reason for Dean to stray.

Castiel looked in the mirror and saw lines on his face, gray in his hair, extra padding around his stomach and thighs; did Dean desire youth, firmness?

Castiel watched Dean’s face wash with disappointment when his advances were refused, because there were times that Castiel just could not get into the right mindset for sex; did Dean wish for a partner that never refused, that didn’t have this sometimes-aversion to pleasures of the flesh?

Castiel caught Dean’s eyes lingering on certain girls, women with lovely faces and gentle curves and nice smiles; did Dean ever wonder what it would have been like had he chosen a female partner, one who could have loved him just the same but would also have had the ability to give Dean children?

These were things Castiel used to comfort _Dean_ about, late nights spent curled together under the covers while Castiel did his best to wipe away his husband’s fears. _You are always beautiful to me, Dean. I will always want you, Dean. I have no desire to have children of my own, Dean; you will always be enough for me._

But these _panties_ – such a flimsy little satin excuse for undergarments, tiny bows mocking Castiel with their feminine allure – made him question everything. He didn’t like it, wasn’t used to dealing with these crippling anxieties, these imagined horrors that hung around him like a dark cloud. He knew everything could be solved, for better or worse, if he just talked to Dean, but for some reason he didn’t want to do that either. It left him trapped in an endless, suffocating loop, wanting to know what was going on in Dean’s head but too afraid of being proved unwanted to confront his husband.

“Cas?” Dean asked him one day, his voice so hesitant that it made Castiel feel sick at heart. “Will you please tell me what’s wrong?”

“Dean, I’m fine.” But he couldn’t even attempt a smile of reassurance, all too aware of how grotesque it would look on his face while he was feeling like this.

“That is such bullshit, man. C’mon, whatever it is, I wanna know.” Dean’s eyes were blazing, the uncertainty not gone but pushed fully to the side in favor of his determination to know why Castiel was acting so strangely.

That was the moment Castiel finally bent beneath the strain of wanting to _know._ So he stood, walked with heavy steps to the closet in their bedroom, and retrieved the panties from the pocket of one of his suits. He’d hidden them himself, not wanting to give Dean the chance to hide them first. The thought of Dean cheating on him was somehow not as painful as the thought of Dean hiding the deed and continuing to do it while Castiel remained unawares.

Castiel held them out, feeling absolutely stricken by the silence that stretched between them. He sunk onto the edge of their bed, and Dean crushed the pink panties in his fist, looking between them and Castiel with a hideous red flush darkening his skin. Whether it was anger or embarrassment, Castiel didn’t know; he felt about two inches tall all the same.

“Where–” Dean trailed off, swallowed the hitch in his breath. “Where did you get these?”

Castiel gestured without looking his husband in the eye. “Behind the nightstand.”

“Were you . . . were you snooping around?” And that was definitely anger in Dean’s voice now. Somewhere inside of him there was a similar anger in Castiel, wanting to rise to the surface and combat Dean’s ridiculous accusations, but raw fear numbed him to it.

Castiel shook his head, because of course he hadn’t been snooping. Snooping for what? He’d never distrusted Dean for a moment of their relationship, had never considered that there was a _reason_ to snoop. “The picture frame fell behind the nightstand. I found those when I went to pick it up.”

Dean turned his accusing eyes on the frame instead, eyes softening when he looked upon younger versions of themselves in tuxedos, faces wreathed in smiles. He quickly went back to glaring at the panties in his hands. “Sorry, Cas.”

It was difficult to draw breath now, all these settled pieces of their life now seeming so jagged and misplaced in light of that apology. Castiel felt like something inside of him was crumbling away, his sense of trust in Dean cracking like glass. Sorry for what? For straying from Castiel, for being unhappy?

“Why didn’t you tell me what you were feeling?” Castiel whispered. “We could have worked things out before it went that far, couldn’t we?”

Now Dean’s face was confused, mortification replaced with uncertainty and hurt. “It’s not _that_ bad, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped to his, anger finding an outlet in his immediate indignation. “You don’t think _betraying_ me is _that bad?”_

“‘Betraying’ you? Jesus Christ, it’s just a pair of fucking panties!”

Castiel looked at Dean then like everything about them up to this point had just been proved false. “It’s not the panties that bother me, Dean! It’s the woman that wore them!”

“Woman–?” Then Dean’s face abruptly drained of color, face sickly gray, hands shaking where he still clutched at the silken underwear. “You think I . . . _Cas._ You think I _cheated_ on you?”

Now Castiel was the one confused, uncomprehending of the genuine shock in his husband’s voice. Dean should know exactly what Castiel was talking about, and yet he honestly looked disgusted by the very idea that he might have been so unfaithful.

“Where did the panties come from, then?” Castiel asked, small, unsure.

“They’re _mine,_ Cas.”

“Yours . . . ?” Such an idea hadn’t occurred to Castiel, not of Dean; they had experimented plenty over the years, but nothing they’d done together had ever suggested Dean had an affinity for something like this. He examined the other man’s face, seeking any hint of deceit, and found none.

“Yeah. I wear ‘em sometimes when you’re not around. It’s just a – thing I like to do, by myself.” Embarrassment painted Dean’s face again, but his eyes remained fixed on Castiel. “Did you really think I . . .”

Castiel could see the truth of it now in Dean’s face, but it wasn’t like he could just flip a switch in himself to take away all the doubt and fear that had built up inside of him all these weeks. He couldn’t believe he’d been so misguided, that he’d misread things so badly. He’d always told himself he trusted Dean implicitly, yet he’d still jumped to the worst conclusion when he’d found the slightest possible evidence. How could he have been so _wrong?_

“Cas . . .”

Dean was kneeling before him then, damnable panties abandoned on the floor, reaching up to remove hands Castiel hadn’t even been aware were digging frantically into his scalp. Tears trickled down over his face, pooling at his neck and dripping down into his shirt. Dean’s own eyes were wet, scanning his face with worry, a new vulnerability there; Castiel had put that there, had given Dean reason to doubt himself when it was _Castiel_ who had ruined things so horribly.

“God,” Castiel gasped, hunching forward to throw his arms around his husband. He clawed at Dean’s back, digging his fingers in to keep the other close. “Oh my God, I thought – I thought–” he choked on the admission, a sin too great to speak out loud. “I’m sorry, Dean. Please don’t leave. Please don’t go. I’m sorry.”

Dean held back just as tightly, murmuring incomprehensible things into Castiel’s ear. His body trembled, something about him just as fragile in that moment.

Castiel could only hope he hadn’t just broken something that had no hope of being repaired. 


End file.
